Avenger ascendant
by Ashrial
Summary: Oneshot. Was it worth it? The price he paid for his vengeance? At the end of his life Sasuke must answer this final question.


Disclaimer: Don't own Naruto.

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The ground comes rushing up to meet Sasuke as he topples, the carpet of molding leaves and moist dirt overwhelming his senses with their warm and earthy scent for a few precious moments before the blood from the hole in his stomach seeps into the ground and takes that too away from him.

Clutching the tree next to him with one hand, Sasuke levers himself into a sitting position, the rough bark of the tree rasping through the blood dampened back of his shirt as he leans against it. Numbness spreads up from the hole in his stomach, the hand keeping his entrails from spilling out bleached crimson with blood.

His lips pull upwards in a snarl of pain, and unbidden a question bubbles up to the surface of Sasuke's mind, one that he has put off for too long. It had been easy really, in the beginning, easier to think of other things, to ignore the one question that really mattered. He told himself that he'd figure it out later, that all that mattered for right now was the next step, and then the one after it, and the one after that. He knows that right now it doesn't really matter, that there's no going back, and not much of a point in pondering it, and he should really just let the last few moments of his life play out in peace. He can't though.

He'd been a fool when he was younger, thinking that he could both defeat Itachi and rebuild the Uchiha house, as if two such monumental tasks could be completed in one lifetime. He'd even said as much when he first met his teammates. He can still remember the moment of beautiful and terrible clarity when he'd realized that to defeat Itachi he would have to devote his entire being to the task, not just the half hearted attempts he'd made so far.

He can still remember the night, the lights of Konoha and the silent tears flowing down Sakura's face behind him, the dark night and Hidden sound ahead of him. He could have turned back then, could have rebuilt the Uchiha house to its former splendor. Sakura had certainly been willing enough to help him there. He could have settled down and been happy, could have… for a moment he'd paused, head bowed, seriously considering the notion. An implausible notion, a notion of not being alone… an absurd notion. And yet he'd teetered, at the brink of turning back to the lights of Konoha, teetered at the edge of quenching the cold fire of anger that he'd kept stoked all those years, his constant companion, felt it flicker and begin to gutter out.

Then the picture of his parents dead at Itachi's hands had risen to consume his mind, their bloodied and broken bodies sprawled at Itachi's feet. Itachi's blood drenched eyes piercing into his, forcing their nightmares of death into his mind, nightmares of his house's slaughter, of his brother cutting a bloody swath through the neighborhoods he'd grown up in, uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces, grandmothers and grandfathers, friends and enemies, all falling victim to the power of those eyes, his brother's sword flickering out to drench the pavement with blood. In that moment he'd had felt his anger flare back to life, the cold fire caressing him with its whispered promises of vengeance as it spread to fill his entire body. In that moment he'd known which path he would walk, which path he _had _to walk.

Looking back at it from the perspective of years later and a life spent, Sasuke is not so sure he had to walk it. Had he truly known the price he would have to pay? For a moment he lets himself think that he didn't, that he'd never known it would come to this, that if the choice had been clearer he would have chosen differently. But only for a moment. The truth was that he had _known_, he'd always known, and he'd chosen. He'd known that he would never know a family or home again if he started down that path, that his only solace would be in the moment when he finally faced Itachi and cut him down just as his own parents had been cut down.

His left hand twitches. It is covered in his brother's blood, now dried and flaking off like old wallpaper. A kunai had been gripped in it not long ago, four inches of tempered steel that had _sung_ when he'd driven it through his brother's throat, a melody that had flowed up his arm and left in its wake a beautiful silence. He'd sacrificed his guard for that opening, and paid a moment later with the katana strike that slid across his stomach in an eviscerating cut. He hadn't cared though, because in that moment he'd achieved his vengeance, the goal that he devoted his entire life to, had sacrificed the only friends he'd ever known and the only future he ever could have had. In that moment of beautiful silence he'd been something he hadn't been in a long time: content.

Then Itachi had hit the floor with a dull thud, his blood spreading in a pool of crimson, and Sasuke realized that he'd just achieved his vengeance. Just achieved the only goal he'd ever truly had, the one that he'd given everything for. And even as his hand scrambled to staunch the waterfall of blood and viscera falling from his stomach, Sasuke realized that he didn't know what to do next.

_Thank you_. Those were the words that he had spoken all those years ago on a dark night to the girl that could have been his entire future, words that he knew she wouldn't understand, but that he'd known he had to say all the same. She'd probably thought he was mocking her. Nothing could have been less true. She had helped him understand what he had to do, had either damned him or set him free, and even after all this time he's not sure which.

That is the single question that won't be banished, won't disappear like so much else has in his life. Leaning his head back, Sasuke closes his eyes, tries to clear his mind of the pain and numbness clouding it, of all the conflicting thoughts and memories. Had it been worth it? Had a single moment of consummated vengeance for a memory been worth it? Had vengeance for the memory of a life been worth the loss of actual one? He doesn't know anymore, and almost cannot bring himself to care. The world is falling away from him, and it all seems so inconsequential.

He'd made his choice, and he should be happy with it. He'd avenged his clan, killed the man who had killed his father and mother, and everyone he'd ever cared about. He is an Uchiha, and should not spend the last moments of his life questioning the path he'd walked. He'd made his choices, chose his path, and walked it to its bitter end. He should not regret it.

He does allow himself to imagine though, as the world recedes into a pinprick of light, imagine a world where he had taken Sakura's offer, had rebuilt the Uchiha house and had a family again. Imagined training with Naruto and Kakashi, eating ramen and listening as Sakura and Naruto argued, Kakashi sitting with an expression of mild amusement on his face. Imagined waking up to next Sakura in the morning, breathing in her scent, that faint hint of leaves and crushed roses, imagined holding their children and raising them through tantrums and fights, through good times and bad. And later, when they got older, training them as Uchiha, showing them how to walk in shadows and kill with a flick of the wrist. They would grow up, marry and have children of their own, grandchildren that would come to visit as he and Sakura grew old together, and he would sit the children on his lap and tell them stories of when he'd been young and strong, their little eyes growing wide in interest.

And when he died it would not be alone in some desolate forest clearing, his guts falling out of his stomach, it would be in his house, surrounded by friends and family, Naruto's hand on his shoulder and Sakura's hand in his…

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The ANBU squad finds Sasuke eight hours later, dead and cold, a faint smile resting on his lips.

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